


Tomorrow

by lonelyhourglass47



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Femininity, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly in Chapter 2, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, They're so beautiful, beautiful Bois, i cry, read the notes before you read the smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyhourglass47/pseuds/lonelyhourglass47
Summary: "Tonight, Brett lets a frustrated tear rush down his cheek, scrolling feverishly through his search results on Amazon at two in the morning. His eyes light up when he comes across a particular item.The price hardly deters him, but before he makes the purchase he forces himself to contemplate the absurdity of the situation. He wants to buy a dress. He wants to wear dresses."-Brett accidentally stumbles upon an idea, a thought, a possibility that leads him through a journey of self-discovery which also happens to increase the bond between him and Eddy, and their potential for a more-than-platonic relationship.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This entire fic stemmed from one thought I had while I was brainstorming for other fics:  
> "Okay, so, what if Brett wanted to wear dresses?"  
> Oddly enough, I came up with this idea before we got to see content of Brett actually wearing a dress, not that that matters. But man, if only we got more Brett-in-a-dress content, right?

He’s always adored Hilary Hahn, and her sense of fashion has been part of that adoration since Brett was a child. He’d wished to be onstage with her after her performances, running his fingers along the fabric of her floor length gowns. Admiring how they shine if the light hits them just right, how they emphasize the sheer elegance radiating off of her. Brett has never been into fashion per se, but he likes the aesthetics of dresses, perhaps much more than his own boring clothing.

It’s a dream that puts the idea into his mind, at first.

A short dream, the kind that’s only long enough to play through one scenario, and because of its brevity he can remember it vividly. He had been surrounded by mirrors, and everywhere he looked his reflection mocked him: on his body was a white dress much too long for his frame, and he didn’t quite fit the bust due to his lack of breasts. He tilted his head, and his own reflection smirked at him.

When his eyes open early in the morning and he takes a glance at his mirror to see that he’s in only a t-shirt and his underwear, well, he frowns.

It looks wrong.

His head falls back onto the pillow and he squeezes his eyes shut, obnoxiously upset from a dream that hadn’t even been a minute long. He won’t cry over something so trivial, but he wipes his eyes anyway. Pulling the blanket back over himself, sleep claims him once more.

He dreams again, entirely too different this time around. He’s a soloist, onstage, eyes slipping closed as he performs the first movement of the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, his signature piece. He sounds sweet and fortunately in tune for once, but he isn’t one hundred percent focused on the music, because his suit is too hot and restricting. He pushes the thought aside, jumps into the theme, and lets his fingers work their magic on the fingerboard. He knows he’s too tense though, and he briefly thinks that he could relax if it weren’t for the suit. The damn suit.

It feels wrong.

Brett’s grumpy that morning and doesn’t care to hide it, which elicits concern from Eddy, who asks him what’s wrong multiple times, because Brett isn’t usually like this. Brett shakes his head, shrugs, says it’s nothing; anything he can do to refrain from answering. He won’t lie to Eddy, but he won’t tell the truth.

The truth being this: when they set up to film that afternoon and throw some merch on, Brett stares at himself in the camera and the way his practice hoodie hides his skin and his shape, and as soon as they’re done and he can escape he rips the clothing off of himself, shuddering from some unknown emotion. He doesn’t like hoodies anymore. It’s sudden, too, because he used to love them for the comfortable warmth they provided him with, but now he feels trapped underneath the cotton.

It’s wrong.

The next time he watches one of Hilary Hahn’s performances, the music fades out of his ears when he focuses entirely on the red dress she wears, hugging her frame, accentuating her curves, and exuding pure beauty.

Tonight, Brett lets a frustrated tear rush down his cheek, scrolling feverishly through his search results on Amazon at two in the morning. His eyes light up when he comes across a particular item.

_ This one. I want this one. _

The price hardly deters him, but before he makes the purchase he forces himself to contemplate the absurdity of the situation. He wants to buy a dress. He wants to wear dresses.

Brett decides not to buy it now, because for some reason he thinks he’ll feel better about it if he does so at a more appropriate time of day rather than the middle of the night, when he might not be as mentally sound. It’s definitely going to be purchased, though. Tomorrow.

He sighs and adds the item to his cart before shutting his phone off and slamming it onto the nightstand. 

That’s that.

  
  
  


It arrives sooner than expected. There’s a knock on the door a few days later and Eddy answers it, though there’s only a package waiting to greet him. “Brett, did you order something?” he calls out into the other room. “There’s a package here.”

Brett nearly gasps, rushing to the door and pushing past Eddy to eagerly grab the box and run off to his room. “Yep, this is what I think it is!” he exclaims giddily, and Eddy laughs but quirks a brow.

“What’d you buy? It’s not something weird, like a sex toy or something right?” he inquires, and Brett snorts in disgust.

“God, no. Fuck off,” says Brett, and he closes his bedroom door. His hands hover over the box, though, unmoving. His excitement dwindles, for no reason in particular, but he decides that this is a big deal. He wants to wait before trying it on, so he slides the box under his bed. Tomorrow.

  
  
  


Eddy’s out to get groceries and as Brett sits on the couch scrolling through Instagram, simply waiting for him to get back so that they can film, he finds himself fidgeting often due to how itchy, uncomfortable, and heavy his clothes feel. The first thing his brain does is remind him of the box waiting under his bed, and without a second thought he runs to retrieve it.

His breath hitches when the dress is first pulled from the box and taken out of the protective plastic. Brett holds it in his hands and stares, his thumbs grazing the silk. He might have paid a bit much for this, especially due to the risk of buying clothes from Amazon, but when he strips his shirt and pants off and steps into the dress he hardly cares. His arms are just flexible enough for him to zip the dress all the way up in the back by himself, and after smoothing out the fabric over his thighs he turns to his mirror, gasping at his appearance.

Prior to this moment, he had truly thought the decision to wear something like this would turn out to be a mistake, but compared to every other item of clothing he owns, the dress easily comes in first place. It’s pink, too, which Brett knew was bold, but at least then if it had ended up looking horrible on him he could blame it on the color. Now, though, he’s starting to think that the fans had been onto something when they said he looked cute in the pink sacrilegious hoodie, because the pale pink dress he’s still running his fingers along looks even better against his skin.

He wants to cry with how much better this feels. He can move freely and his calves are showing without him having to don a pair of old, unfashionable shorts. He twirls around in a circle and watches the bottom of the dress chase him in the mirror.

He’s far too entranced by that point, going so far as to present himself with little poses in the mirror, hands on his hips, arms holding up the sides of the dress like he’s about to do a curtsy; he would laugh at himself if he wasn’t in the comfort of his own room, which is a judgement-free zone.

He jumps at the sound of the front door opening and closing loudly, and his beautiful moment is cut short when he starts to unzip the dress, planning to put his regular clothes back on before Eddy has a chance of seeing him like this. It’s upsetting to have to slip the dress off and hide it away in his closet. He misses it already.

  
  
  


The second purchase is made when Brett is strewn across the couch, hogging every cushion with his outstretched limbs. Eddy glares at him from his seat on the floor, tempted to move Brett by force, but his annoyance dissipates as Brett’s eyes light up and he taps a few things on his phone screen, showing clear excitement.

Eddy sighs and remains on the floor, contemplating for another few minutes before deciding to ask Brett nicely once again to move. “Brett, would you please give me a little bit of space to sit there too? It’s so uncomfortable down here.”

He looks over again just in time to see Brett yawn and put his phone down next to him, his eyes fluttering shut. “Mm, yeah, if you wanna. Might have to lay with me though.” He flashes a cheeky grin at Eddy, who curses himself for the blush on his cheeks. Hesitantly, he stands and walks within six inches of the couch, but just as he’s considering actually laying with Brett he hears a light snore from the man himself. Eddy has no clue how Brett could have fallen asleep so quickly, but at least it gives him a reason to walk away. He doesn’t need to get his heart thumping in his chest by cramming himself on the couch in close quarters with his best friend.

Said best friend is adorable when he’s sleeping.

Somewhere, in the depths of his subconscious, Eddy wonders what Brett looked so excited about as he tapped away on his phone. He won’t pry, though.

When Eddy leaves his room the following morning and makes his way down the hall, he peeks his head around the corner, unsurprised to see Brett still asleep on the couch just as the night before. He makes sure to be extra quiet so he doesn’t wake him. 

He wants to ask Brett, almost. When they’re having breakfast. What Brett had been smiling at on his phone. Eddy has no reason to be this curious; he thinks it’s nothing anyway. Still, he wants to ask.

As Brett opens his eyes and gazes across the room at Eddy tiredly, the latter dismisses his thoughts. He won’t pry. 

Some things are better left unsaid.

  
  
  


It becomes a habit. Goes on for months. Brett has bought seven, maybe eight dresses and they’ve all fit him well to his delight, and he hasn’t told Eddy because it’s none of Eddy’s business.

Each time Brett looks in the mirror he questions the whole thing a little bit more.

He loves the dresses. He hates hiding them. He loves femininity. He hates pretending.

Feeling a need to further spark the secretive joy, this is around the time Brett starts shaving his legs. 

They’re softer, then, without all the hair in the way. It’s an experiment the first time, which somehow leads to regularly shaving everything; he had started to feel as though the legs weren’t enough.

The absurdity of it is he feels more like himself with this new grooming habit. It can only be a good sign, though. At least he’s accepting of his own desires.

It takes Eddy not too long to notice that Brett’s got softer legs than he should, but Brett doesn’t fret since he knows this is something he can get away with better than wearing dresses as a hobby.

He’s laying across the couch, his legs draped over Eddy’s lap, Eddy being the one who’s actually sitting like a normal human being on said couch. This closeness and lack of personal space is jarringly common for the two of them, which most likely comes with being best friends. If Brett occasionally entertains the idea of this being a more-than-friendly action, then that’s his business and only his own.

Anyway, before we stray from the point any further: Brett’s sweatpants are too big for him, but he wears them anyway because they’re far less constricting on his body than his jeans are. The sweatpants, while he’s laying down, do not move with his legs when he stretches them, so when he pulls back into a resting position his ankles and his shins are exposed. Distractedly, he bounces his legs up and down lightly until Eddy places a firm hand on Brett’s sweatpants to stop him. Eddy’s entranced by whatever’s going on on his phone and in his earbuds, but his thumb rests on the bare skin of Brett’s leg. Eddy’s fingers drift from the fabric to the flesh, and he absentmindedly begins to tap the beat of the music he’s listening to on Brett’s leg. He stops after four or five measures and, while still staring at his phone, mind you, his fingertips brush over the skin, almost like he’s petting him.

Only then does Eddy lower his phone and direct his gaze towards what he’s touching. Brett’s leg is smooth and soft and hairless.

Once his phone is settled on the couch, Eddy uses the hand that isn’t attached to Brett to remove his earbuds from his ears, and he licks over his lips quickly before he speaks. “You shaved your legs?” he asks, though the answer is obvious. Brett blinks and nods.

“Everything. Not just the legs,” he responds casually.

Eddy swallows. “Feels nice.” As soon as his fingers begin to draw back, Brett lifts his leg up to chase them.

“You can touch,” he says, nearly a whisper but not quite there. Admittedly, he’s proud of his skin. It’s clearly having an effect on Eddy, too, who licks his lips a second time while rubbing his thumb over Brett’s shin.

“Everything, you said?” asks Eddy, voice higher than Brett recalled it to be thirty seconds ago. He nods and pulls his sweatpants up higher for Eddy, just past his knees, and Eddy eagerly responds, both palms now wandering over the skin. 

“Mhm. It’s comfortable.” Brett means to say something else; loses his train of thought as soon as three of Eddy’s fingers on his right hand slip underneath Brett’s sweatpants and begin to carelessly slide up his thigh. Brett’s breath hitches and he struggles to respond, unsure of whether or not Eddy is aware of what he’s doing.

Eddy’s lost in the moment, his free hand coming down to rest on Brett’s other leg before gliding a second set of calloused fingers onto his thigh. Brett jolts upward but quickly backs down when Eddy turns his body to face him more and puts just enough pressure on Brett’s legs with his hands for them to push apart, only a few inches.

Brett’s eyes go impossibly wide, like they would in a cartoon.  _ “Eddy,”  _ he says breathlessly, drawing the word out. One of Eddy’s hands pulls away and flies up to cover his own mouth, for some unspoken reason Brett wants to guess but can’t wrap his head around. He watches as Eddy exhales slowly into his palm, and once the moment has passed he cautiously lowers it, freeing his mouth again. His lips are redder than before, had he been biting them?

Eddy loses control for a split second and squeezes Brett’s thigh with the hand that’s still on it, and Brett can’t help himself; he gasps, unexpectedly, and he quickly runs his fingers through his hair just to find something to do while the rest of this embarrassing moment passes. Eddy makes a face, something of shock mixed with dark curiosity, and he yanks his hand away from Brett, leaving his skin hot to the touch where Eddy’s palm had been resting. Brett forgets what he was about to say again when Eddy backs away the slightest bit and tugs his shirt down over the front of his pants. Eddy sees Brett’s jaw drop and the former stands, turning away at lightning speed and stiffly hurrying down the hall. Brett hears a small, “oh my god,” from Eddy as he leaves, and then his bedroom door opening; as soon as Eddy steps inside he slams the door shut, and out comes a much louder: “Oh my  _ god _ !”

Brett doesn’t think they’ll talk about it. Why, as his hands rest on his stomach and he stares up at the ceiling, trying to make the tingling he feels in his legs go away, does he wish they would?

He definitely doesn’t think about what Eddy might be doing in his bedroom.

  
  
  


Brett’s still awake at a late hour that same night, long after Eddy has fallen asleep because he doesn’t think he can do this if Eddy’s still conscious somewhere else in the house; it’s a moral dilemma at its finest. 

He swears he can  _ feel  _ Eddy breathing deep and evenly in his bedroom even as Brett’s in his own, his tiny gasps and whines ringing in his ears while he grinds his hips down across the pillow, one hand pressed flat against the headboard to steady himself, another hand creeping up his stomach and chest, hot fingers pausing over a nipple. His eyes have been squeezed shut for the last ten minutes, and he’s beginning to tire, but he can’t bring himself to stop until he succeeds at chasing his release. Ultimately, the same bundle of thoughts creep up on him time after time until he inevitably gives in and allows himself to  _ think,  _ to  _ imagine. _

He imagines Eddy in the same position he had been in earlier, hands on Brett’s thighs, pushing his legs apart, but in this fantasy Eddy lowers himself between Brett’s limbs and pokes his tongue out, flattening it against the most sensitive part of his body. Brett cries out in ecstasy, though he fails to realize this sound escapes not in his fantasy but in reality, and he’s probably starting to leak onto the pillow now that there’s a chance he could be caught like this, getting himself off in such a compromising position. He wants, fuck, he  _ wants  _ Eddy to come see him here, to be at Eddy’s mercy, to be shamed and punished and praised and rewarded all at once. His skin is smooth and wet, sweat dripping onto the sheets, and he’s so close to reaching his climax but he can’t seem to get there, not until he opens the floodgates and lets that sick dream wash over him.

Only for a second does he picture Eddy holding him up against the wall, railing Brett so hard he moans high and wanton, unable to stop himself, Eddy being so rough with him that his grabby, needy hands tear the fabric of Brett’s maroon dress when he cums, shouting Brett’s name, leaning in close to his ear while coming down from his high and whispering to Brett that he’s Eddy’s princess.

With the echo of  _ princess  _ in his ears, Brett is consumed by a full body shake, his release shooting out onto the pillow beneath him as he bites into his hand to stifle the pornographic moan that tastes like acid on his tongue.

He slumps over, struggling to catch his breath as his forehead hits the headboard, blinking back the tears in his eyes. 

If the fantasies bring him this much pleasure, think of what Eddy could do to him if it were to happen, like, actually.

Brett falls over onto the bed, next to the pillow he violated, surrendering to the tiredness that creeps up on him and closing his eyes to sleep. He’s pathetic, for now, lying on messy, sweaty, dirty sheets, naked and flushed, Eddy’s name dying on his lips as he sinks into slumber.

He’ll wash away the shame, under a stream of cold water, when he wakes and has the rationality back to force his ridiculous fantasies out of his mind.

He’ll wash away the shame, tomorrow.

  
  
  


Eddy can’t find his rosin, has misplaced it for the fourth time in a two week period, and Brett’s violin case is in his room. Eddy should knock, he really should, but it’s three in the afternoon and Brett couldn’t be in need of privacy at the moment, so without thinking Eddy swings the door open and proceeds to ask if he can borrow Brett’s rosin.

On second thought, he doesn’t need to borrow shit because the sight before him is distracting enough to delay practice time for several hours, days even.

Brett turns his head quickly to lock eyes with the intruder, except Eddy won’t meet his gaze; he’s busy trailing his eyes over the black frilly dress Brett wears; it covers everything but his feet due to his position on the floor of his room, sitting in front of a floor-length mirror like he’d been admiring himself. Eddy gets it, because there’s a whole lot of Brett to admire in a dress like that.

Brett can’t speak, can only think  _ don’t laugh at me,  _ and Eddy doesn’t have to read his mind to refrain from doing so. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t make fun of him, wouldn’t dream of it in a million years.

Eddy stares, and his brain melts into mush. He says:

“You look pretty.”

And Brett blushes.

He ducks his head, his cheeks dusted crimson, and asks, “Is this—am I alright, like this, do you think?”

The question hardly makes sense, but Eddy understands that he’s searching for a way to ask permission to dress like that. It’s absurd, asking him if it’s alright that he’s sat there wearing something so gorgeous it should be illegal—Brett’s  _ gorgeous. _

Eddy wants to prove it’s alright. Can’t just tell him so and be done with it.

He takes a few steps into the room, only stopping once his feet are an inch from catching the bottom of the dress, and he lowers himself down to sit criss cross in front of Brett, unable to keep the smile off of his face. “Can I?” he mumbles, but reaches forward already anyway, taking a handful of the fabric in his hand and stroking it, playing with the frills. Brett keeps his hands in his lap, tapping his fingers against his thighs in no particular rhythm. A solid minute passes while Eddy contemplates what to say, and finally breaks the silence with a lighthearted laugh. “How long have you been up to this, Bretty?”

Brett nearly explodes in relief, letting a laugh or two of his own escape while he thinks back to when it all began. “Four months, almost,” he says. “I’ve been stockpiling them one at a time.”

“Good to know that package you got really wasn’t a sex toy,” says Eddy, and Brett playfully shoves him. They share a collective laugh, and Eddy lets the fabric slip from his fingers. He and Brett are both blushing now, for a reason they cannot say. “So what, you just thought you’d look good in a dress one day?” Eddy asks.

“It’s been a lurking idea for a while, but I only dealt with it recently,” Brett tells him. “I guess I just, well, I felt uncomfortable in my clothes. I thought I was crazy for thinking I might feel better wearing a dress of all things, but when I first wore one it made so much  _ sense _ . Does that sound stupid?”

“Never,” Eddy breathes, shaking his head. Then, a shy smile creeps onto his face, and Brett can’t help but cock his head and ask  _ what?  _ and Eddy averts his gaze. “You should have told me about it sooner, that’s what I’m thinking, so I could, I don’t know, appreciate you, like this, in that.”

Brett wants to laugh yet again at the realization of how much they’re struggling to form sentences, but he swallows down the urge. “ _ Appreciate me?  _ What do you mean, I’m not, like, a model.”

Eddy runs his fingers through his hair, huffs out a quick sigh. “Yeah, and what of it? You look, well, you look…” Brett quirks a brow, increasing the tempo of his fingers tapping against his knees while he waits rather impatiently for Eddy to finish his thought. “Fuck, I can’t think of a good word! Forget it, ignore me, I’ll gladly sit over here and admire you for the next forty hours.” He scoots back to give himself a better view and rests his chin in his hands, but Brett doesn’t take the attention well.

“Not when you should be  _ practicing _ forty hours,” he says, and stands, the dress now presented in its full length, the bottom coming down just past his knees. He smooths the fabric down and spins around to face the other direction, and Eddy tries to memorize how the frills move. Once he’s able to snap out of his reverie, he clears his throat to find his voice again.

“How many dresses do you own?” he inquires, to which Brett turns his head back to him and flashes the most excited grin Eddy’s ever seen on him. He hops over to his closet and slides one of the doors open, reaching into the hidden side and seemingly counting the items.

Brett emerges from the closet moments later and clasps his hands together, declaring, “Fourteen.”

Eddy’s surprise is evident when he stands up and rushes over to the closet. “What, fourteen? Let me see,” but Brett pushes him away with an airy laugh. 

“No, it’s embarrassing,” he says and moves to close the closet.

Eddy puts a hand out to stop him, sliding the door back open. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Brett lets go of the door, watches as Eddy pulls it wide open to reveal the former’s small collection of dresses. Eddy breathes out a quiet exclamation, his eyes raking over each one individually, making observations. “I’m surprised you don’t have any blue ones. You look good in blue.”

Brett shrugs. “It’s not like I don’t want more. I’ve been buying one about every week; if I bought all the ones I wanted at once it would be way too expensive…”

Eddy taps his fingers against his chin, seems to be considering something for a moment. When he directs his attention back to Brett there’s a toothy grin that makes its way onto his face. “We could go shopping for some together, like, today.”

“What.”

Eddy’s smile fades at Brett’s lack of enthusiasm, and he starts to second guess himself. “It’s a great idea, I think. We have nothing better to do except, well, maybe practice, but if you want more of these I say we should get you more.”

Brett stares at him quizzically. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, two guys shopping for women’s clothes in public? I might literally die.”

“Brett, come on.” Eddy takes one of Brett’s hands in his and drags them both away from the closet. “No one’s going to think we’re shopping for  _ you. _ ”

“It’s still weird,” Brett mutters, mostly to himself. He’d rather not argue, but it’s a big step to let this happen in public spaces. He thinks of everything that could go wrong, or that could make him uncomfortable. Wouldn’t it be awkward?

“Hey,” Eddy says, grabbing his attention back, “hey, look at me.” Brett looks. His hand is briefly squeezed by Eddy. “We don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. The last thing I’d want to do is make you feel uncomfortable with all of this. I want to support you though, and I think it could be easier and more fun to shop for dresses if you get to see them in person rather than on a website, right?”

Brett can’t deny that, and perhaps he’d been wanting an opportunity like this for a while. A shy smile creeps on to his face as he squeezes Eddy’s hand in return, and glances at the shimmering fabrics in his closet. “Yeah, maybe. Actually, yes, we can do that. Shopping. I can—I want to do that with you.”

Looks like they’re back to being stuttering messes, Eddy thinks, but doesn’t mind it a bit. “Do you want to today?” he asks, eager. Brett doesn’t want to tell him no, but he allows himself to, just this once; after all, Eddy had said he wouldn’t want to make Brett uncomfortable.

“This is all a little overwhelming, you knowing about it, I mean. Can we wait until tomorrow?”

Eddy’s grin doesn’t falter, and he nods. “Sure. Tomorrow,” he says, and finally lets go of Brett’s hand. “Now then, we should eat something, yeah? I’m gonna go see what’s still edible in the fridge.”

Brett watches him walk away, stands there with a strange feeling in his chest and stomach that he can’t place, though it’s the good kind of strange, and waits for his hand to stop tingling where Eddy had touched it. He glances up, peering out of his room and down the hall where Eddy’s still walking away, and sighs, overjoyed but with no way to express it, not yet.

He’s going shopping, for  _ dresses,  _ with Eddy.

He’s buying  _ more dresses _ , tomorrow.

  
  
  


Later that evening they find themselves lingering at the small dining table long after they’ve finished eating. Eddy sips the remainder of his drink and eyes Brett curiously as the latter stares off into the distance, but he’s not unfocused. “What’s on your mind?” Eddy asks, and Brett perks up immediately.

He takes a short moment of hesitation, but then he’s launching into conversation: “I was thinking about getting another long dress, tomorrow, or maybe finding a train dress, you know, the ones that cut off just above the knee in the front but get longer in the back and trail behind you?”

“That’d look nice,” Eddy says, simply, but realizes that answer isn’t enough, because this is clearly important to Brett and Eddy wants to give his best input. “Do you think we might find some like that that fade into different colors? Like, I think it’d be cute if you got one that was lighter at the top but then the color darkens towards the bottom.”

“Yeah!” Brett exclaims, and then has to physically restrain himself from getting too excited. “What color would be best, though? Maybe blue?”

Eddy props his head up by placing his chin in his hand, looks with fondness at Brett and his insanely gorgeous smile, the brightness in his eyes. “I did say you look good in blue.”

Brett blushes, then, his cheeks a faded crimson, which Eddy can’t wrap his head around even after it’s gone, but he memorizes the image anyway. He’s been making Brett blush an awful lot recently. 

A brief reminder of the Incident flashes in his mind, of last week when his hands slid up Brett’s bare thighs. The blush on his cheeks then had almost stripped Eddy of his self control. God, the filthy things he’d shamefully done in his bedroom after that.

Now is not the time to think about that memory, and he scolds himself in his head for the growing heat between his legs. He wills it away, focuses again on what Brett’s saying, just in time for him to hear the latter decide he wants a sleeveless, strapless dress, and Eddy nods eagerly in agreement, would love to see Brett’s perfect shoulders and collarbone on display. Again,  _ now is  _ not  _ the time, Eddy. _

Brett keeps talking, and Eddy lets him; keeps listening, chipping into the conversation when he needs to, mostly nods and smiles and smiles wider. Looks forward to taking Brett shopping tomorrow. Nearly loses his mind when Brett walks around to the other side of the table and throws his arms around Eddy’s neck, lets his head rest on top of Eddy’s for a second while he says, “Thank you.” And Eddy wants to turn around, and to pull Brett’s face down to his, but he’s not going to, not yet anyway, because he’s unsure of Brett’s position and won’t risk jeopardizing this relationship. This, this thing they have, is already more than a friendship, though less than a romance, but Eddy’s content here, for now, with Brett’s arms around him like that. It’s enough, today.

He allows himself to stand, turns around, and hugs Brett, and this feeling, the closeness, the warmth, it’s more than he deserves anyway. He inhales slowly, picks up his friend’s scent, and says, “No need to thank me.” Brett pokes him in the side, and Eddy laughs. Pulling away, that look on Brett’s face, yeah. 

It’s enough, today. Tomorrow, well, is tomorrow.

  
  
  


Brett gasps as soon as they enter the first store, tries to keep his joy at bay but ultimately rushes over to the first rack of dresses and runs his fingers all along them, gazes at them with such adoration it might even make Eddy jealous, for a second or two. He makes his way over to Brett slowly, hardly caring that he’s probably going to have to stand here following him around the store for a  _ while,  _ because how could he mind when he gets to see Brett this happy? Fortunately, they’re mostly alone in the store for right now, which is preventing Brett from closing in on himself and being as discreet as possible, and ashamed of what he’s doing here in the first place. No, he’s carefully assessing every item of clothing on every rack, letting it be rather obvious that he’s shopping intently, vigorously even, for lack of a better word. Eddy’s right there behind him, until it gets a little boring and he looks around a little more while Brett’s spending more time on each individual piece, and then Eddy spots a particularly pretty dress, and yeah. He needs to see Brett in that.

“Hey,” he calls, “Brett. Look.” Brett glances up, watches as Eddy pulls the dress off of the rack and holds it up for Brett to see, and Brett nearly squeals; he runs over and picks it up with his own two hands, holds it up to himself, grins from ear to ear and thrusts it back into Eddy’s hands.

“Can you hold that one? I need free hands to keep shopping,” he says, and Eddy happily carries it. Brett goes back to searching, eventually landing on another cute dress, which is pink, and he tells Eddy that it’s almost the same color as the first one he ever bought but a much different style, and after a moment of consideration he hands it to Eddy for him to hold as well.

This continues for half an hour, forty minutes, fifty and almost up to an hour; Brett takes as much time as he needs to sort through everything he sees. Every now and then Eddy will point something out, and most of the time Brett agrees with the choice and motions for Eddy to carry it, but there are one or two times where Brett says no, not that one, providing an explanation as to why he doesn’t like it, and Eddy’s okay with that too, actually admires how much Brett is into this. 

Soon enough Eddy’s got a stack of six dresses in his hand, a variety of colors and styles, happy to see that two of them are blue, and he follows Brett to the (fortunately empty) dressing rooms. Since they’ve got the entire area to themselves, each time Brett gets a dress on he swings the door open and presents himself to Eddy, usually twirling around and striking a pose or two. It’s funny, they laugh, but more importantly it’s comfortable, and in the end Brett decides he wants  _ all of them. _

“All of them?” Eddy repeats, and Brett nods. Eddy glances at the price tags on each one. “All of them, huh.” Brett appears nervous, he knows they’re expensive, but Eddy shrugs and picks them all up in his arms again, says, “Alright, let’s go pay.”

The woman at the counter gives them the stink eye but doesn’t say anything about it, no questions asked, and thankfully they manage to get out of there before the tension rises too high.

Brett takes the shopping bags directly to his room as soon as they walk inside their home. He pulls each new dress out one by one and hangs them up in the closet, beaming the entire time. Once he’s completed this task, he seeks out Eddy, who’s in the kitchen, raiding his own fridge, and Brett takes his hand unexpectedly, causing Eddy to jump but to gladly accept the action. Brett steps up close to him, has to tilt his head up to be able to make eye contact, and Eddy feels his heart stutter in his chest with how close they are. Then, Brett licks his lips, lowers his gaze slightly for only a fraction of a second, and— _ oh, please tell me he’s thinking about wanting to kiss me—no, that’s selfish, Eddy, get it together— _ Brett lets go of his hand, now that he has Eddy’s attention, and he says:

“I never could have gone out and done that by myself. You being there made it so much easier, and more comfortable...Anyway, I just wanted to say it meant a lot to me that you were there today.”

Eddy swallows hard, softens his gaze a little. “I had fun, shopping with you. I’ll always be there when you want me around. Actually, I’ll probably always be there even if you  _ don’t  _ want me around.” It’s a joke, mostly, and he laughs.

Brett doesn’t laugh. “Come on, I’d never not want you around. You’re my favorite person.”

Eddy can’t begin to describe how that feels, when his heart soars, and he asks, dreamily, “When did you start being so sincere?”

“When did you start looking at me like that?” Brett asks in return, answering Eddy’s question with a question of his own.

Eddy blinks, and feels the glaze leave his eyes; he steps back and makes an effort to look away. “What do you—What are you talking about? Like what?”

Brett watches the panic cross Eddy’s features, and he giggles, dismissing Eddy’s concern with the wave of his hand. “Like nothing. I was kidding. I wonder why you seemed to freak out, though. How iNtErEsTiNg.”

Eddy’s face heats up, he can feel it, but at least his awful reaction has made Brett giggle. A small victory. 

“Whatever,” he mumbles. “Go put on one of those new dresses. I want to see you in them again.” He’s a little shameless, now. Losing his self control.

Brett hums. “I might wait until tomorrow. You’ve seen enough today, haven’t you? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re attracted to me. Would you rather have me wear nothing at all?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, as a joke, of course.

“Don’t put that image into my head,” Eddy says, and pretends to sound pained, or disgusted.  _ Don’t tempt me,  _ is what he wants to say. Not yet. Not until he has a better indication of Brett’s feelings. 

_ Loves me, loves me not,  _ says the voice inside Eddy’s head. He thinks he sees Brett’s eyes flicker to Eddy’s lips again. Again?

“I can wait until tomorrow,” Eddy says, defiantly, almost. Brett smirks. God, he can probably see right through him. 

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Eddy’s patience, his self control, they’re both slipping away. He has to be careful, or he’ll end up confessing to Brett before it’s time, and that is not the kind of stress he needs in his life at the moment.

At the moment, he needs bubble tea, and seeing Brett’s eyes light up at the suggestion, well, that’s enough for him again. Yeah, it’s enough.

  
  
  


Eddy knocks on Brett’s door, hears a quiet, “Just a minute!”, and Eddy waits, a while, until he doesn’t want to wait anymore and opens the door anyway, and before he can even say whatever he was going to say he’s stopped short by what lies before him.

Brett’s in a floor length gown, standing tall, good posture. It’s red, the dress, and Eddy can see his front and his back at the same time because of Brett’s position in front of the mirror. “Oh,” Eddy says at first, dumbfounded. 

“Like what you see?” Brett asks, facing the mirror but catching Eddy in the background. He sways his hips a little, watches the dress swish and flow. The words dry up in his throat when Eddy hurries over, stepping up behind him and sliding his arms around Brett’s torso, flattening his palms against Brett’s stomach and moving them ever so slightly to feel the velvety fabric of the dress. Brett doesn’t stop swaying, still, so Eddy sways with him, until Brett leans back into Eddy’s embrace and just  _ accepts  _ it, fully. 

He doesn’t know how long they do this, wordlessly, but Brett’s eyes slip closed as Eddy presses closer, his chest flush against Brett’s back. Brett is possessed by an urge to  _ feel;  _ he slowly reaches up and lets his fingertips graze Eddy’s jaw, and then he reaches further, gliding his fingers down Eddy’s cheek. Eddy sighs, eyelashes fluttering, and one of his hands leaves Brett’s stomach, instead grabbing hold of Brett’s glasses and removing them from his face, discarding them on the dresser. Brett lets his own hands fall back down to grab Eddy’s wrists and pull Eddy’s arms tighter around him, and that’s when it’s over for Eddy, probably, the last of his self control slipping from his fingers.

He nudges his chin against Brett’s temple, sinks further into temptation when Brett tilts his head back more, providing a perfect opportunity for Eddy to tilt his own head forward and lean in  _ so, so close,  _ which he does, and his eyes close finally alongside Brett’s as he feels pink, plush lips against his own, holding Brett up when he melts into Eddy’s embrace, and into the kiss. Eddy kisses with passion, with no limitations, similar to how he plays the violin. Brett parts his lips, breathes into Eddy’s mouth when the latter parts his own to match him, though Eddy only gets a taste of that tongue before he forces himself to retreat, at least to make sure this is something Brett wants for real. Opening his eyes and seeing that indescribable something swirling in Brett’s irises, however, already answers that question for him.

“What was that?” from Brett, asking breathlessly.

Eddy swallows, can’t find his verbal filter, so he says what he’s thinking, no restrictions, simple as that. 

“I have loved you,” the confession begins, “for as long as I’ve known you, and I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you are, especially now, like this. So. So I want to kiss you again, if you’ll let me.”

Brett doesn’t even blink once in the time it takes him to respond, hardly has to think about it because this confession has been one he’s dreamed of for years, yet this is the first time he’s allowing himself to  _ hear  _ it, because it’s  _ real,  _ and it’s true. 

Therefore, it’s no surprise when he turns around, still held in Eddy’s arms, and breathes out,  _ “Yes,”  _ with the most relief and desire Eddy’s ever heard in Brett’s voice. 

“Yeah?” he mutters, hardly holding back his smile, and Brett nods, bringing Eddy’s face down to his.

“Yeah,” Brett confirms, immediately covering Eddy’s lips with his own, all honesty and no hesitation, because for once, he doesn’t have to wait another day to find the courage to kiss him. The courage is here now, steadily increasing the more Eddy smiles into their kiss. 

Neither of them have to hold back, no more hiding behind hopes of tomorrow. This, them, the kiss, it’s happening  _ today.  _

When Eddy pulls away a second time and says it again, that little “yeah,” and Brett nods so much his head might fly off, Eddy pulls him forward and walks them backwards until they fall onto Brett’s bed, and from there they kiss more heatedly, more urgently, until Brett is the one to pull away, brushing the hair out of Eddy’s face, asking if this is a dream.

“Not a dream,” says Eddy, peppering kisses all along Brett’s jawline. “Just me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you for reading chapter 1! I appreciate it and I would love to hear your opinions and feedback :)
> 
> BEFORE YOU CONTINUE, this is important. This chapter is a continuation of chapter 1, and it's 95% smut, but I'm warning you now that in the smut Brett has the opposite genitalia, mostly because I'm not a huge fan of dick but also because I'm probably insane (notice how any references to Brett's genitalia in chapter 1 didn't specifically state what he has down there). As a queer woman, it's difficult for me to write smut that involves two sets of male genitalia. So, uh, Brett has a vagina. That being said, if that's not something you'd be willing to read at all, then you can leave now, I won't mind.
> 
> If you decide to continue, hey, enjoy chapter 2!

Brett’s sighing against Eddy’s lips, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of another kiss. Each one feels as incredible as the first, and if he wasn’t already becoming aroused, Brett would be content with lying there wrapped up in each other, kissing for hours on end or until his mouth goes numb.

There’s no patience for that today, though, because the waiting period has been far too long, and the throbbing between Brett’s legs before Eddy’s even initiated anything other than the kissing is proof of that. He mewls when Eddy’s fingers thread through his hair, and Brett’s hair feels like what a two octave gliss sounds like. Eddy pulls back then, which is frustrating every time it happens but Brett’s relieved as soon as he comes back; Eddy only has to move away this time to remove his own glasses, and as soon as they’re placed on the nightstand he’s leaning back down and pressing a wet kiss to Brett’s forehead, flattening his palms against Brett’s stomach and running them over the fabric of the dress he’ll soon have to remove and discard, unfortunately, if he doesn’t want to ruin it.

Eddy sits back on his heels and watches Brett come up to follow him, the latter grasping at Eddy’s shirt and trying his best to pull it off of him despite having unsteady hands. Eddy helps him out, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing to the floor, and when Brett’s hands begin to glide down Eddy’s chest, Eddy lightly takes Brett’s wrists to get him to come to a halt. “Are you sure?” he asks, cautiously, knowing where they’re heading, and it’s a big step for two people who were only friends yesterday.

“How many times do I have to tell you yes?” Brett breathes, entwining his fingers with Eddy’s, squeezing his hands, and then releasing them, giving him free reign. Perhaps Eddy was  _ too  _ cautious, and perhaps they’ve been intimate for a while now, but not from a sexual standpoint. He offers a shy smile, relaxing enough to find himself again, and he thinks, no, he is ready to care for Brett now like he hasn’t been able to previously.

Eddy’s hands find Brett’s hips, Brett throws his arms around Eddy’s neck, and they’re back to kissing, tongues dancing, Brett shivering when Eddy briefly sucks on his lower lip. Brett tastes like honey, and he smells like sea salt and sunflowers. 

Eddy’s hands wander for a while, snaking up Brett’s sides and then onto his back, where his hands meet in the middle and he finds the zipper of the dress, pulling it down with one hand at a torturous pace while his other hand changes pace and direction, sliding up Brett’s leg and onto his thigh, and the sigh of appreciation Brett lets out reminds them both of how this could have happened a couple of weeks ago had Eddy not lost his mind over his unexpected arousal. It’s better that they’ve waited until now, however, because at this point in time they both know this is exactly what they want, and what they need.

“So soft,” Eddy murmurs as the hand on Brett’s thigh strokes across the skin with feather light touches. He takes a chance, his hand pressing inward until he gives Brett’s inner thigh a squeeze and relishes in the high-pitched whine it pulls out of him. Eddy wants to drag this out but doesn’t have the patience; he’ll hold out for as long as possible so that he can give Brett what he needs, but right now he’s chasing after all of Brett’s body, wanting to feel every inch of him, and so Eddy’s hand slips right between those legs and he rubs three of his fingers over the front of the satin panties Brett’s wearing, feeling a dampness there. “You’re wet already?” he asks, no judgement and all arousal. Brett blushes fiercely, and Eddy won’t have that, solely because there’s absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. He pulls his hand away and uses it in combination with his other in order to carefully slip Brett’s dress off of his body and lay it down off to the side, and Brett feels a little self-conscious now, when he’s mostly exposed like this. “Lay down, baby, let me take care of you.”

Brett’s eyes light up as soon as he hears the pet name, which Eddy makes a mental note of. “Why do you keep staring at me like that?” asks Brett, and Eddy can sense the discomfort in his tone.

He locks eyes with Brett and says, “As I said before, I’ve never met anyone as beautiful as you.” Brett smiles, but the rest of his expression doesn’t change. “What’s wrong?”

Brett licks his lips, drawing his arms up to fold over his stomach. “I’ve never...No one has ever seen what I look like, I mean, you know…”

Eddy follows Brett’s gaze, his eyes fixated on the area between his legs and Eddy gets it, he knows. “This,” he begins, trailing a single finger down the front of Brett’s panties, “is part of who you are and part of why I love you.” He leans away just enough to give Brett space, and then he’s placing both of his hands on Brett’s calves, following Brett’s movements as the latter’s knees bend when he draws his legs up. Eddy presses a quick kiss to a kneecap, petting his legs comfortingly, and then he stares deep into Brett’s eyes, asking silent permission before his mouth opens and he brings his thoughts to light. “Nothing would make me happier than to show you,” he says, the corners of his lips turning up when Brett slowly opens his legs, “how riled up you get me.”

Eddy’s lips are moist and shiny when he licks them yet again, searching intently for any signs of displeasure on Brett’s face when Eddy hooks his fingers into the satin panties and begins to drag them down, but Brett lifts his hips to allow it, placing his full trust in the other to love him no matter what he looks like, and of course Eddy does, of course. The panties are tossed aside, and Eddy marvels at what’s beneath, the clean shaven skin begging for contact. Eddy wants to even the score first, so he takes the time to strip off the rest of his own clothing, and when Brett sees his erection his eyes go wide with desire.

“We’ll get there, babe, but let me take care of you some first,” Eddy says, dipping his head down between Brett’s legs and feeling ecstatic when Brett drapes one of his legs over Eddy’s shoulder. Eddy exhales once before anything else, his hot breath against Brett’s wet pussy causing the latter to squirm. Not wishing to make him wait any longer, Eddy pokes his tongue out and licks  _ directly  _ over Brett’s clit, eliciting a loud moan from him. Satisfied with the initial reaction, Eddy gets to work immediately, spreading the labia with two of his fingers and flattening his tongue against the small slit. He mostly licks on the surface at first, but when one of Brett’s hands fist in Eddy’s hair, urging him to go deeper, Eddy thrusts his tongue inside the opening and begins to form a pattern of oral movement, gradually making space for his fingers in the place of his tongue. When he slips the first digit in alongside his tongue, Brett gasps and pushes his thighs together, pressing Eddy’s head between them and causing the latter to moan out too, intoxicated by being completely surrounded by Brett. Brett maintains his position, holding Eddy’s head in place while he assaults Brett’s entrance with his tongue and his finger.

Not too much later, he pulls his tongue out, in search of Brett’s clit, and this time, as he flicks his tongue back and forth over the sensitive area he slips a second finger inside him, and Brett cries out in pleasure, his back arching while Eddy scissors his fingers to open him up. By the time Eddy wriggles a third finger in alongside the first two, Brett is pulling at his hair and the bedsheets wildly, chest heaving. “Need you,” he rasps, his body completely flushed, and Eddy’s suddenly painfully aware of his throbbing erection when he pulls back and can see all of Brett laid out beneath him.

“I hear you,” he responds, but allows himself to have a moment first, his hands settling on Brett’s hips as he kisses him, first on the lips and then along his jaw, his neck and on his throat, lazy open-mouthed kisses that leave a wet trail in their wake. Once he reaches Brett’s collarbone he gives him a playful nip, and as he moves along, a more deliberate bite, sucking on the skin to form a hickey that will be just out of sight when they’re clothed again, thinking ahead for later on when it’ll have to be hidden from the camera.

_ “Please,”  _ Brett begs, and Eddy strokes a thumb across Brett’s cheek.

“Shh, patience, sweetheart.” To compensate for the wait, Eddy repositions himself, his mouth hovering over Brett’s left nipple before he closes his lips around it and sucks, and Brett twitches underneath him, a broken moan passing through his teeth. Eddy rubs his thumb over the other nipple, and once satisfied, switches and does the opposite to each. Brett is an absolute mess, shaking and whimpering, his pussy soaked.

Finally Eddy releases him, still leaning over Brett but detached from his body now, and Brett eagerly throws a hand up to Eddy’s chest, gliding his fingers down the center of his torso, and Eddy groans when Brett reaches the territory under Eddy’s waistline and grips his hard cock firmly in his hand, giving it a few pumps and watching Eddy’s eyes squeeze shut, shallowly thrusting into Brett’s fist. Brett rubs his thumb over Eddy’s slit and bites his lip when the continuation of his ministrations yield copious amounts of precum, which are spread around Eddy’s cock up until a few moments later when Brett pulls back and spreads his legs wider, an open invitation. “Now,  _ please, _ ” he demands, and Eddy obliges, his hands sliding over Brett’s ass and squeezing the plump cheeks as he takes the time to properly line himself up, careful when he begins the initial push in, the head of his cock sliding inside with little trouble.

Brett sucks in a breath, and Eddy finds one of Brett’s hands and entwines their fingers, pressing their clasped hands down onto the sheets beside Brett’s head, and then he continues to push in; once he’s fully sheathed inside Brett he stops to make eye contact, and when Brett gives a small nod Eddy pulls out almost all the way and slowly thrusts in again, repeating the motion with rhythmic rolls of his hips, allowing Brett to adjust to the feeling. As he feels Brett’s inner walls relaxing around him he builds a quicker pace, a few low moans of his own escaping his lips. Brett is hot and tight around him, yet becoming soft and pliant beneath him as the seconds tick by.

“ _ Eddy _ ,” Brett moans, high and melodic, “harder.” 

Eddy listens, and obeys, though still careful not to hurt Brett until the latter repeats his order. “ _ Harder,  _ I want—I want—“ He loses his train of thought, maybe, but Eddy fucks it out of him anyway when he snaps his hips forward, driving into Brett almost viciously, and it’s bordering on violent but turns out to be exactly what Brett needs, and he shouts over and over again when Eddy hits a particular spot inside of him and continues to hit it on every thrust. 

“You’re too hot, I’m, fuck, I’m close,” Eddy hisses, his blood rushing in his ears. He’s burning up, as is Brett.

“I—Me too,” Brett moans, his back steadily arching off the bed with each thrust. “Fuck me, Eddy,  _ right there _ , I’m—“

“Cum for me, Bretty, say my name, I’m almost there,” Eddy asks, near begging. Brett’s eyes are watering, he’s near tears, and his vision goes blurry right before Eddy awards him a particularly powerful thrust, and Brett’s orgasm hits him  _ hard.  _ He shouts, no, screams Eddy’s name, voice breaking as he squirts onto Eddy’s cock, and the latter finishes deep inside Brett, filling him up. He gives a few more shallow thrusts, riding out his orgasm, and then he’s pulling out and collapsing next to Brett, draping an arm across Brett’s torso and pulling him in for a sweet kiss. It’s different, this kiss, after the experience they’ve shared, and Eddy thinks this is even better, when he breaks the kiss and gets to witness Brett’s blissful expression, his eyes wet and bleary but so full of pleasure, and of  _ Eddy. _

Brett rolls over onto his other side, and Eddy doesn’t ask to spoon him, doesn’t have to, because Brett’s intentions are clear now, somehow. Eddy presses a kiss to his temple, holds him tight and buries his nose in the hair at Brett’s nape. 

“What are we?” Brett asks in a whisper, hesitant to ask it at all, for understandable reasons. Eddy tangles their legs together, briefly pulls one hand away to throw the duvet over them before he’s right back to holding Brett in his arms.

“More,” he says. “More than whatever we were before today.” It’s not a definitive answer, but it makes enough sense at the time and that’s all Brett needs.

“We’ll talk later?” he assumes, and Eddy hums, smiling softly behind him. Brett blinks, glances off to the side and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and grins at his reflection, because despite the fucked-out expression he still wears and the lack of clothing on his body, this is the first time he looks  _ right _ . Exactly how he wants to be, how he’s supposed to be. He listens intently to Eddy’s breathing, hears it slow, and Brett realizes he wants to fall asleep like this always.

Eddy hugs him tighter, whispers, “Love you.”

Brett beams, melting into the bed and into Eddy’s embrace. He wants to say it back but saves it, for now, instead saying, “Go to sleep,” and the fondness and sheer adoration in his tone has Eddy smiling wider too. Brett lets his eyes slip closed, decides he has plenty of time to say those words back tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what your reaction might have been to this, but remember that I warned you. I'll actually be surprised if any of you made it this far.  
> If you did, thank you so much! Feel free to tell me how good or bad of a job I did in the comments :)


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